"A fragment of what is technically known as a blue-print," he announced. "What were you and Richard Fleming doing with a blue-print?" His eyes bored into Dale's.
Dale hesitated--shut her lips.
"Now think it over!" he warned. "The truth will come out, sooner or later! Better be frank NOW!"
If he only knew how I wanted to be--he wouldn't be so cruel, thought Dale wearily. But I can't--I can't! Then her heart gave a throb of relief. Jack had come back into the room--Jack and Billy--Jack would protect her! But even as she thought of this her heart sank again. Protect her, indeed! Poor Jack! He would find it hard enough to protect himself if once this terrible man with the cold smile and steely eyes started questioning him. She looked up anxiously.
Bailey made his report breathlessly.
"Nothing in the house, sir."
Billy's impassive lips confirmed him.
"We go all over house--nobody!"
Nobody--nobody in the house! And yet--the mysterious ringing of the phone--the groans Miss Cornelia had heard! Were old wives' tales and witches' fables true after all? Did a power--merciless--evil--exists outside the barriers of the flesh--blasting that trembling flesh with a cold breath from beyond the portals of the grave? There seemed to be no other explanation.
"You men stay here!" said the detective. "I want to ask you some questions." He doggedly returned to his third-degreeing of Dale.
"Now what about this blue-print?" he queried sharply.
Dale stiffened in her chair. Her lies had failed. Now she would tell a portion of the truth, as much of it as she could without menacing Jack.
"I'll tell you just what happened," she began. "I sent for Richard Fleming--and when he came, I asked him if he knew where there were any blue-prints of the house."
The detective pounced eagerly upon her admission.
"Why did you want blue-prints?" he thundered.
"Because," Dale took a long breath, "I believe old Mr. Fleming took the money himself from the Union Bank and hid it here."
"Where did you get that idea?"
Dale's jaw set. "I won't tell you."
"What had the blue-prints to do with it?"
She could think of no plausible explanation but the true one.
"Because I'd heard there was a Hidden Room in this house."
The detective leaned forward intently. "Did you locate that room?"
Dale hesitated. "No."
"Then why did you burn the blue-prints?"
Dale's nerve was crumbling--breaking--under the repeated, monotonous impact of his questions.
"He burned them!" she cried wildly. "I don't know why!"
The detective paused an instant, then returned to a previous query.
"Then you didn't locate this Hidden Room?"
Dale's lips formed a pale "No."